


Ready For Any Ol' Kind

by mad_mary_kidd (madmarykidd)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmarykidd/pseuds/mad_mary_kidd
Summary: A short prequel of sorts for Mister In-Between, my main Fallout 4 fic. Set shortly after Casey picks up MacCready in the Third Rail, this is an account from Casey's point of view of some of their first adventures together.





	1. When There's Work to Do, You Better Send for the Mighty One

“Did you find anything useful, or are you just wasting our time again?”

Robert Joseph MacCready is a crotchety old man in a youngster’s body. He assured Casey when they met that he is twenty-two -  _ish_ , he had added, looking uncertain - but he has the patience of a man Casey’s father’s age, and is very vocal about it.

“That stings, MacCready,” Casey says mildly, not looking up from the terminal. He hits ‘enter’, and gives a filthy chuckle. “We should probably get to a safe distance,” he warns, still grinning like a maniac.

MacCready’s frown is breaking into a smile, in spite of himself. “Why?”  


Casey just grins back. “You’ll see.”  


They sneak out of the shed as the robots come to life, careful to stay quiet and low so that the raiders don’t spot them. Hopefully the things will join the other robots racing around the track before the self-destruct activates.

“Get ready,” says Casey, loading a cassette of shells into his shotgun. “On the signal, we separate and kill everything that moves, got it?”

“What signal?” MacCready asks, frowning. To his credit, he is reloading his rifle as he asks.

“You’ll know it,” Casey assures him. Sure enough a few seconds later a huge explosion lights up the night sky orange; MacCready ducks reflexively but recovers fast and begins to run, with barely time for a grin at Casey.

Casey already has a pulse grenade in hand and is flinging it toward where the fireball is rising into the sky; there was at least one Assaultron on the track, and they don’t go down easy. On the off chance that the self-destruct sequence only applied to the new ‘bots he’s released, he doesn’t want to be pulverized by anything that escaped the blast. The insurance is worth one pulse grenade, for sure.

“What the _fuck_ \- ” says the announcer over the PA, but it is already way too late. The Raiders have been caught completely off-guard, and Casey presses the advantage as far as it will go. The pulse grenade explodes and Casey’s Pip-Boy makes that cash-register noise he’s learned to love. He gives another filthy chuckle at the sound; mayhem is his favorite hobby, especially when he’s the one ruining someone’s day. Panicked shouts and the pop of pipe pistols are coming from all around him so he ducks into one of the ramshackle huts scattered around inside the track, and blasts the shit out of anything that comes near. He hears MacCready’s rifle out somewhere to the west of him and grins; the mercenary will be up somewhere high, picking off any unfortunate raider who find themselves caught in his crosshairs. 

His services are worth every one of the two hundred caps Casey bartered him down to. Doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes too, in spite of his jacked-up teeth. Casey has always had a weakness for blue eyes, especially the ones that look like trouble. MacCready’s short stature and skinny frame make him worse than useless in a stand-up brawl, but goddamn the guy’s a dead-eye shot. And in spite of his habitual bad temper, he’s actually pretty funny. Attacks like this one are what bring out the best of his skills, and Casey’s, too. Sneaking around killing raiders that don’t even know you’re there is something of a rush; it feels good to know that you’re a fucking master at what you do, and MacCready seems to feel the same. Perhaps that’s why he has such little patience with things he doesn’t understand, like computers. Or why Casey needs so much junk.

This attack on the racetrack is just an elaborate junk-run, honestly. A few more farms have joined the Minutemen's network of settlements recently, and are in desperate need of new turrets and fences, maybe a few beds, and Casey figures any place that has so many robots just has to be stuffed with junk he can use. Worth risking getting vaporized by an Assaultron, for sure. MacCready refrained from rolling his eyes when Casey told him what they’d be doing, but just barely. Instead he had pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, choosing to smoke instead of bitch about it for once. He has little patience for the Minutemen, much less carrying what he refers to as ‘worthless crap’, but he accepted Casey’s caps back in Goodneighbor so he can put up or shut up.

A raider sticks his head around the doorway of Casey’s shack; Casey blows it off. He can’t hear any of the familiar robot-y sounds, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still active. At least there wasn’t a sentry-bot. Assaultrons are bad enough. Casey pokes his head cautiously out of the shack; guns are firing somewhere behind him, and he can still hear the occasional crack of MacCready’s rifle. Casey crouches low and steps over the headless raider, and heads in the direction of the gunfire.

A few minutes later, he and MacCready stand in Eager Ernie’s office next to Ernie’s unfortunate corpse. It has a bullet hole between the eyes, courtesy of MacCready’s rifle. Casey has to fight to keep from showing how impressed he is at that one. MacCready is flipping through a copy of Tumblers Today that he’s found; lock picking seems to fascinate him even though he can’t quite get the hang of it. Casey thinks briefly about asking if he wants a crack at the safe, but they only have limited bobby pins so he kneels in front of the thing and picks it himself.

“Cute trick, but can you do it blindfolded?” MacCready asks as the door swings open, looking up from the magazine.

“Kinky. Why don’t you blindfold me and we can find out?” Casey asks. It rolled off his tongue before he had really realized he was going to say it, but oh well. He hears MacCready shuffle his feet and looks back over his shoulder. Sure enough, he is beet red and rooting in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter.

“I uhh…”

Casey curses himself. He will have to dial it back a little, or he is going to scare him away. He's caught MacCready staring a few times before now but he always looks away upon discovery, hiding his face under the brim of his hat. Something is holding him back, and Casey should know better than to push. Still though, MacCready is the one who brought up blindfolds. If he really thought Casey would be able to leave _that_ one alone then he hasn't learned a single thing over the last few weeks. 

“There’s some .308s here if you want them,” he says, holding up a battered box.

“Sure.” MacCready holds out a hand and catches the box easily, and stows them in a pocket, clearly relieved at the subject change. “Thanks. Oh, hey, I found you some .44s,” he adds, pulling out a different box and holding it up.

“Oh, awesome. Thanks,” says Casey, catching it.

“Hey, uh… Listen, there’s something I wanna ask you,” says MacCready now. He sounds uncomfortable, which might still be because of Casey and his big stupid mouth, but more likely means he’s about to ask for a favor.

“Shoot,” says Casey, still rooting through the contents of the safe.

“You’ve been pretty straight with me, so I’ll be straight with you,” MacCready begins. This sounds interesting. Casey turns his head to look up at him over his shoulder.

“Okay,” he prompts.

MacCready sighs, looking frustrated. “It’s those two assh- those two idiots you saw me talking to in the Third Rail,” he says. There it is again - he stopped himself from cursing. Casey notes it but otherwise makes no outward sign. He’ll tell him if he wants to, and it’s no skin off Casey’s nose if he doesn’t. It’s not like he gets shitty about Casey swearing - if he did, then Casey might have a problem. “Winlock and Barnes,” MacCready continues.

“What about ‘em?” Casey asks. He had been prepared to step in that day, if the two hulking assholes had decided to start whaling on him. MacCready is short and slight; they’d have smeared him into paste pretty quickly. Fortunately they’d thought better of it, in spite of MacCready continuing to run his mouth as they left. It’ll get him killed one day whether he curses with it or not, Casey thinks.

“They’ve been hounding me for months,” says MacCready now. “It’s been driving off all my customers. No-one wants anything to do with me once they find out I used to run with the Gunners. I figured if I could get enough caps together maybe I could buy them out.”

“Are you sure you could trust them to leave you alone once you’ve given them the money?” Casey asks. Personally, he doubts this plan will do anything except leave the guy dead and broke. Casey himself hasn’t had much experience with Gunners, but his few encounters with them have left a definite impression. MacCready glowers; it makes his expression only slightly darker than usual.

“That’s just it. If I set up a place to meet, I’m sure they’d just roll up with everyone they’ve got, take the money and kill me anyway,” he says. “Unless, you and I were to take them out before they figure out what’s going on…? And before you ask, let me just say that I wouldn’t even be asking you if I didn’t trust you.”

Casey looks at him; it is right there in his blue eyes. Guarded, maybe, but it is there. Casey isn’t sure why it’s so much of a surprise to find out that MacCready genuinely trusts him, but it is. He nods.

“Okay.”

“Look, I’ll make this easy for you. If you feel like helping me out, we can head over to the Mass Pike Interchange, and take them down. If you don’t I won’t hold it against you. Either way, thanks for hearing me out.”

“I said, okay,” says Casey, straightening up and smiling. MacCready blinks.

“Wh - really?”

“Yeah. Just tell me what we’re up against, and we’ll take those assholes down.”

MacCready looks as if he doesn’t quite dare to believe what he’s hearing. “For real? Oh, man… Thanks Casey, I really mean it.”  


“No problem. We gotta go back to Sanctuary Hills first though, drop off all this crap,” Casey indicates their packs, stuffed to the brim with desk fans and coffee cups, baseball mitts and everything else he couldn’t resist the siren song of. MacCready starts to make a face but visibly catches himself, and nods.

“Sure.”

~*~

On the way back up West MacCready fills him in on what they can expect at Mass Pike. He was stationed there himself, it turns out, when he was a member of the Gunners.

“There’s a couple of elevators up to the turnpike,” he says. “But they’re both guarded pretty heavily. I’d take the North one because the other one comes up right in the middle of the encampment, and there’s an Assaultron right beside it.”  


_Oh good. Assaultrons. My favorite_. “Okay,” he says instead of voicing his misgivings. “What else?”

“Well, the other thing is, I don’t know if stealth will work there,” says MacCready. “It might be more effective to surprise ‘em, hit ‘em hard and fast.”

“Grenades and such,” Casey muses. “Got it. Can we get up the elevator without them hearing us?”

“If we time it right, yeah.”

They approach Sanctuary Hills in the rain; not a radstorm, but just a regular one. It hasn’t taken Casey long to learn the difference in the warning signs. MacCready keeps up a steady stream of grumbling as they walk - it seems that getting wet is among his least favorite things. Of which, there are many. Once, Casey might have found it annoying, but if anything his experiences in the war have left him with greater tolerance. It is not, however, endless.

“I can’t even smoke a cigarette in this,” says Maccready miserably, after an hour of solid complaining, and Casey’s patience reaches its end.

“Yeah? You want some cheese with that whine?” he asks, wiping the sheet of rain off his face for the fourth time in as many minutes. To Casey’s surprise, instead of being pissed off, MacCready laughs.

“Ha! Yeah, okay, I asked for that,” he says. “I used to yell at kids for less.” Casey turns.

“You yelled at  _kids_?”

“Yeah, back in Little Lamplight,” says MacCready. “I was a kid then too, don’t worry. I’m not a complete jerk. Little Lamplight was where I grew up,” he explains. “It was a cave system back in the Capital Wasteland, I used to live there with a bunch of other kids. I was mayor for a while, if you can believe that.”

This is new. “Really? Just a bunch of kids, no adults? And you in charge of them all?” MacCready nods.

“Yeah. You got kicked out when you turned sixteen. We couldn’t trust adults not to fu- uh, screw with us. And also there wasn’t room for everyone to stay, so when you hit sixteen, you left or we kicked you out.”

“Mayor MacCready,” says Casey, shaking his head. “And nobody ever just… came along and took all your shit?”

“Not while I was in charge,” says MacCready, with more than a touch of pride. “We traded with a few trusted mungos, but mostly we shot at them.”

“‘Mungos’?”

MacCready grins. “Adults,” he explains. “It was just our name for them.”

“And now you’re a mungo too,” Casey observes. It’s hard to hide how impressed he is, if this wild tale is even remotely true. The thought has occurred that MacCready might be lying about it - it seems so farfetched, but then he’s heard weirder since he emerged from the Vault. Next to his own story, the idea of a bunch of kids living in a cave, armed to the teeth, seems fairly sane. Besides, MacCready doesn’t seem the type for self-aggrandizement or elaborate lies. Not on this scale, anyway. If all this had come from Deacon then Casey would blow it off without a second thought, but MacCready is no liar. Not a good one, anyway.

“I guess I am,” says MacCready. “From Mayor MacCready to Mungo MacCready. How the mighty have fallen.” It’s Casey’s turn to laugh.  


“How old were you when you became Mayor?” he asks.

“Like, ten,” says MacCready.

“There weren’t any older kids who could do it?”

“Yeah, but nobody else wanted to. Or if they did, they would have been terrible at it.”

“It must have been hard.”

MacCready shrugs as if he’s never thought of it that way before. “Yeah, sometimes,” he admits. “It wasn’t all shooting at mungos and doing whatever the hell we wanted. We lost people on occasion.”

“I’m sorry. What happened?”

“We used to have to send kids out on scavenging raids,” says MacCready. “Sometimes they didn’t come back. Deathclaws, slavers, sometimes just plain - uh, jerks.” His expression as he describes this certainly seems to lend credence to his story. Casey has known loss; it’s hard to fake.

“So where did you go, when you finally left Little Lamplight?” Casey asks. MacCready looks uncomfortable at this but covers it quickly.

“Uh, place called Big Town,” he said. “It’s where most kids went. Hey, I think we’re getting close now. Isn’t that Red Rocket up ahead?”

And there it is, the end of the line. MacCready doesn’t make shit up, but he does avoid things he doesn’t want to talk about. He’s right, anyway, that is Red Rocket, and even if Casey felt like prying further, they have other things to worry about now.

“Yeah. Safety off, there were muties hanging around last time I was here.” Casey is glad of a good excuse to change the subject. As well as the rain it is growing dark - as much as Casey prefers night-time travel, he knows MacCready hates it. Another item in his least-favorite-things list.

They pass Red Rocket without incident and make their way up the hill to Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was editing this, I decided that I shouldn’t refer to MacCready as Bobby at all since they don’t know each other like that yet, so I did a find and replace to take out ‘Bobby’ and replace it with ‘MacCready’. Good thing I actually read it through afterwards, or I might have missed the phrase ‘they only had limited MacCready pins’. I laughed for a solid five minutes at that one


	2. He'll Stay On The Job Until The Job Is Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mass Pike happens. There's a Grognak up there, somewhere.

They creep up toward Mass Pike at around ten in the evening; MacCready might hate traveling at night but he has put Casey in charge of this operation, so they’re going to be doing it Casey’s way. The cover of night will make things a lot easier, he has decided. His perception is better than MacCready’s, anyway. They find the elevator without too much trouble.

“They’ll be asleep?” Casey whispers, to confirm. He takes a last drag of his cigarette and throws it away.

“Not all of them,” MacCready whispers back. “The Assaultron obviously doesn’t sleep, and they watch in shifts of two at a time overnight.”

“Okay. You got plenty of Stimpaks?”

“Yeah.”

Casey checks all his guns one last time to make sure they’re all reloaded, and that he has the right grenades to hand. He bought a few plasma grenades from KL-E-0 on the way back from the race track; they are in his pocket within easy reach. He figured they were worth the investment.

“Let's kill some Gunners,” he says grimly.

They get on the elevator and Casey hits the button. He can practically _feel_ MacCready’s heart hammering. He doesn’t look scared, more determined. Casey wonders if he even cares whether or not he survives the night. He looks like he’s decided to go down fighting if that’s what it takes. He must seriously be sick of having them on his ass all the time.

The elevator reaches the top - as they rise up over the railing Casey is looking both ways to see what’s coming. Nothing to the left, just a few burned-out cars and a long drop where the road ends abruptly, wrenched off either by the bombs or by its own weight over two hundred years of neglect. All the exciting stuff is to their right: several burned-out cars and trucks, and a lot of huts and shacks lit with floodlights. He creeps off the elevator, keeping low, gun held up to his face, and hears MacCready follow him. A red flash sweeps across the highway ahead - the Assaultron. It’s quite a way off; Casey wonders if he can reach it with a grenade from here. He holds out a hand behind himself as he stops - MacCready, too eager for the fight to pay attention to what Casey’s doing, walks right into it.

“Hey, take it easy,” says Casey quietly. “Don’t be in such a rush to get killed.” If MacCready has a retort for this he keeps it to himself, just takes a breath and releases it slowly. Casey unpins a grenade and takes aim.

The Assaultron sees it coming as it flies through the air - it is off, already running in their direction. The grenade explodes behind it, doing minimal damage and waking the sleeping Gunners. Well, so much for that plan. Hard and fast it is.

“Fuck,” says Casey, and lifts his shotgun, waiting. “Any time,” he adds to MacCready.

He waits for the other to fire off a few well-placed shots - they chip off a little of the thing’s health, but not much, not enough - before creeping closer even as the Assaultron runs toward them, and Casey can hear the head laser spooling up. Casey has no intention of letting it reach MacCready. “Back me up,” he calls back over his shoulder, before standing up and running toward the robot, firing as he goes.

He can hear shouting up ahead, but it is of minimal importance right now. Right now, he has an Assaultron in his face, its head laser almost charged. He ducks under its arm, jabs the butt of the shotgun into what would have been its ribs as he goes, and runs past it. The Assaultron fires the laser as it tries to follow Casey around, as he hoped it would - it shoots harmlessly out sideways over the Wastes. Now he has a little while before it can charge again - if he can use that time effectively enough, it won’t.

It’s a big ‘if’. The Assaultron is fast and hits hard - something slams into his shoulder from behind and he stumbles forward. There’s a sickening snap, and something is not moving correctly now. Fortunately it’s his left shoulder, not his right, but it’s still going to be much harder to do anything.

He raises the shotgun as he turns, trying to ignore the agony in his shoulder, and fires right into the thing’s face with a satisfying boom - it stumbles back, lifting its arms as if to protect itself, a curiously human trait. He can hear the crack of MacCready’s rifle somewhere to his right, and the Assaultron staggers away from him, knocked off balance. He takes the advantage and fires at the thing again - and there’s a smash of glass, and everything explodes into flame.

He can’t afford to ignore the Gunners any more, it would seem. He can see why MacCready suggested a hard-and-fast approach. He reaches for another grenade, having to hope that MacCready can deal with whatever’s left of the Assaultron. He lifts the shotgun again but the Gunners’ve seen it, and are keeping just out of its range - he flings the grenade in their direction and reaches for his .44. Behind him he hears MacCready’s rifle fire several times in quick succession, and then a fizzing crunch - and an explosion. He feels the heat of the Assaultron’s death throes warming his back, but fortunately he’s far enough away that it doesn’t knock him over. He doesn't have time to look back to make sure that MacCready is okay, but a moment later a bullet whines past his ear from behind and hits a Gunner in the face. Casey smirks in spite of the pain.

A bullet from somewhere up ahead scrapes his thigh, making him cry out - and that’s his cue to go for a Stimpak. Between the leg and the shoulder, he knows without checking the Pip-Boy that one or two more well-aimed shots will be enough to finish him off. He ducks behind a burned out car, clutching his bleeding leg, and reaches inside his armor for one of the syringes. He flips the cap off with a thumb and just as he’s about to stick the needle into his flesh he feels the unmistakable jab of the barrel of a gun into his temple.

The Gunner is so close that Casey can smell his terrible breath as he laughs. Casey closes his eyes, knowing it’s too late.

_I’m sorry, Shaun._

A crack and something warm and wet hits the side of his face; he opens his eyes and looks down - the metal armor on his shoulder is covered in gore and gray matter. He suppresses the urge to throw up and jabs the Stimpak in. MacCready has bought him another chance, and he’s not about to waste it.

When he looks up over the hood of the car, the Gunners are arrayed further down the road, all taking pot shots from behind cars and shack doors. One is wearing Power Armor - must be either Winlock or Barnes. Well, better make all this worth it. He takes aim down the scope at Power Armor’s head - it snaps back satisfyingly as the bullet hits it. Before Power Armor can recover Casey has unpinned and flung another grenade.

MacCready’s bullets are still coming steadily from behind him - the Gunners are starting to lose, Casey realizes with a jolt of fierce joy. They are dropping and not getting up - Power Armor seems to have noticed this too, because he stands up and makes an ill-advised run toward the two of them with a howl of rage, firing his semi-automatic wildly and missing Casey completely.

Casey stands his ground and takes aim at his head again, surprised when he hears himself laugh as the bullet stops the Gunner in his tracks, knocking the helmet right off his head. One of MacCready’s bullets hits him in the shoulder and he goes down on one knee - Casey finishes him off with a shot to the top of his head. The Pip-Boy makes the cash register noise.

They press forward, slowly, Casey refusing to allow any of the Gunners to get close to him. One of them flings a grenade, which sails right over Casey’s head - he hears it bounce behind him. There isn’t time and there’s nothing he can do - the grenade explodes and MacCready gives a yell of pain and rage. Casey hopes it’s more the latter. He keeps firing, not daring to look behind. After a long, awful moment, relief surges through him as he hears the crack of MacCready’s rifle again. Casey has already taken aim at the Gunner who threw the grenade and dropped him in two quick shots. Even having taken out as many as they have, Casey isn’t sure he could have finished off the rest on his own.

There aren’t many left now, and Casey wonders idly which ones were Winlock and Barnes. One of them must have been Power Armor, but what about the other? Is he among the few still standing? He wishes the remainders would make the mistake of clumping together and then he could take several out with a single grenade, but they’re too well-trained for that.

MacCready appears at his elbow, face screwed up with concentration and a hatred Casey has never seen there before, eyes alight with a savage kind of joy. It would be easy to dismiss him as small and annoying and bad-tempered and nothing more, but having watched him fight, Casey is more than aware that MacCready is a formidable, even fearsome opponent. The Gunners were smart to hire him, and really dumb to piss him off.

Casey hears the name - " _MacCready?!"_ \- cried in disbelief up ahead; someone has recognized him. Not that it matters because they’re all going to die, but it would have been better if none of them had ever known who demolished them. The Minutemen have radios, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that the Gunners have them too.

The Pip-Boy makes the cash register noise again and the last Gunner drops to the floor; the silence is deafening. All Casey can hear is his own and MacCready’s ragged breathing. He straightens up, checks the Pip-Boy for red dots - all clear - and holsters his gun.

“Is it over?” MacCready asks. It’s not clear whether he expects an answer, or even whether MacCready is aware that he’s asked it out loud. Casey watches as he approaches the bodies, gun lowered, and toes the nearest one with his boot. Blood is streaming down one of his arms and dripping from his fingers; a bullet or shrapnel, Casey isn’t sure. MacCready gives a short, breathless laugh as he turns back to Casey. “We did it,” he exclaims. “We did it!”

It’s like watching a weight falling from MacCready’s shoulders; he seems taller in his jubilation. Casey returns his grin - and blinks in surprise as MacCready barrels into him, throwing his arms around his neck. He seems to quickly realize that he’s probably crossed a line, but Casey puts a loose arm around his waist - enough to let him know it is welcome, not enough to hold him there against his will. He feels MacCready relax a little, and pulls him a little closer. Just a congratulatory hug between friends, that’s all. MacCready saved his life a minute ago, if they’re not friends now then they never will be.

MacCready smells like gun oil, and cigarettes, and blood. It’s strangely pleasant. Comforting, even, apart from the blood. Casey is just beginning to realize how long it’s been since anyone hugged him like this, when MacCready begins to draw away. Casey lets it happen, with more than a touch of regret, surprised again when MacCready pauses, and now they’re almost close enough to -

MacCready ducks his head and turns away, an awkward smile appearing on his flushing cheeks. “Uhm…" He clears his throat. "Hey, I’m pretty sure they had a Grognak up here somewhere, if you want it,” he says, tugging at the brim of his hat. Casey watches him for a moment.

“Awesome,” he says at last, just as MacCready’s shoulders are starting to set like concrete, and begins to dig around for shit to use or sell. “Hey, you need a Stimpak for that arm? You’re pissing blood everywhere.”

MacCready looks at it as if noticing it for the first time. “Huh? Oh. Right. No, I don’t want to waste one. I’ll just bandage it.”

Casey nods, deciding to let him get on with it, or not, as he likes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda didn’t mean for it to be MacCready who initiates the almost-kiss after Mass Pike, but I kind of like the idea that he did it without realising and freaked himself out, and now just assumes that it was Casey’s doing. Maybe they both did it, and each of them assumes it was the other. I dunno.

**Author's Note:**

> While I was editing this, I decided that I shouldn’t refer to MacCready as Bobby at all since they don’t know each other like that yet, so I did a find and replace to take out ‘Bobby’ and replace it with ‘MacCready’. Good thing I actually read it through afterwards, or I might have missed the phrase ‘they only had limited MacCready pins’. I laughed for a solid five minutes at that one


End file.
